


Professional

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: This shit isn’t well written by any means, a mess, and this literally the first fanfic I’ve posted in years, not to mention the first fanfic I’ve ever posted on this website, oh yeahs theres sex in this, welcome to the rice fields motherfucker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A look in Hannah Annafellow’s inner struggle and relationship with the head butler of the Trancy estate. (*coughs* ah yeah, I mean Claude Faustus of course. The sexiest butler around.)





	Professional

**Author's Note:**

> Literally I’ve been wanting to write about these two for awhile now. And that’s only to satisfy my craving for the lack of fanfiction about these two. 
> 
> Looking back on it now, I feel like I didn’t really do a good job on describing these two, and this fan fiction was just a word vomit rather than an accurate portrayal on them. But really, one could argue that there’s nothing else to say besides their relationship just consists of hate (and probably hatesex) and bottled up sexual tension, haha. Either way, thanks for reading :)

There is no certainty in the way he grazes his fingers down her cheek, but she knows for a fact that this passion underneath his fingertips exists not for her master who craves it, desires it so badly.

She shivers against his palm. Pleasure on the ins and outs of her smooth, tan colored epidermis. "There’s no pride in that.” She thinks. She knows this is a game, and that she cannot let her emotions that she shouldn’t even have get the best of her. But she won’t admit that the situation can’t be helped, because despite her attempted resistance, she still feels her throat tighten so greatly she can hardly speak a word to him right now. A feel of warmth caressing the area where her soul should be.

Maybe, he too, feels it. Maybe it’s something in the air, polluting it as they breathe it in. Because as she watches his face closely whenever they fuck, she sees the things he can’t hide. The slight jumping of his Adam’s apple when sensation courses up his spine, and through the rib cage. When she encapsulates her mouth around his aching want. When he pushes past her moist barrier, and into her bowels where it feels so snug and tight against him. He’s so perfectly imperfect. The most impressive display of what tries best to conceal itself, but in the end fails to no avail. A devil can play in human skin, but in the end the devil is a devil, and there are no blurred lines. 

He slides his fingers from her hot face down to her collar bone, and then down her breast. Where he softly pinches and toys with her through the fabric of her maid's uniform. They kiss, and she lets his tongue into her mouth without a fight. And she lets this game he loves to play progress steadily.  
Claude wastes no time in removing her clothing. Just as she gives in to her lust, and does the same for him. Once her upper half is bare to him, he spends a moment admiring the sight bestowed upon him. He leaves a mark on the middle of her navel that is sure to bruise later. 

She eyes the bulge in his black slacks, and immediately feels the velvety warmth course through her once again without fail. She bites her lips as he takes the rest of her clothing off, and as he removes his belt hastily. Unwilling to wait a moment longer.

She gasps like a virgin when she feels him breach her. He’s (without a doubt) well endowed, and stretches her walls even after all the times she’s let herself succumb to him. He goes deeper until he feels himself touch her hilt, and begins to thrust his hips without any remorse.

She doesn’t deny that she thinks this is what heaven, or death feels like. Stars swim in her vision even with her eyes closed, and she only moans louder when he degrades her, and demands her to obey him without any inquiries on her part.   
She plays her role, and begs him to keep going, to keep defiling what is already the definition of defilement. She loves every minute of this. The digging of her nails into his perfect skin, her very own la petite morte brimming within her deepest depths of the abyss, and darkness within her.

She feels his hips starting to tire a bit, as his once well-placed thrusts become sloppy and off tempo. He’s getting close to completion, and she is as well. 

This utter perception of physical contact seems to lose it’s meaning now. She arches against him, the squeaking of the bed with every movement becomes the only part of her outer surroundings she can detect besides the enjoyment, and her lover overstimulating her. Her world becomes lopsided, priorities lost with the time, as their bodies undulate needlessly against one another. She clenches, whines, and moans his name when she comes. 

And  
he too, releases a mess of pure white coating her insides bound to make conceive not longer after this. Desire built upon, what feels like years going on years, crashing down and into the ocean. Another loving touch, and another beautiful display of what deems itself as true love crucifies itself in front of her.

A true professional in the art of deceiving.


End file.
